Shadows
by Gary Merchant
Summary: At Bonjaxx's, the Ninth Doctor sits alone, staring into his drink. But he is not the only visitor.


SHADOWS

He'd seen them when he entered. But they didn't matter. He paid for his drink and sat at an empty table. He needed time. Time away from the universe, to reflect on recent events. It was supposed to be his birthday today. But he didn't feel in the mood for celebrating.

At another table, a group of three were meeting under an agreed flag of truce. Not that they actively opposed each other, but it was rare for their paths to cross unless absolutely necessary. But on this occasion they had agreed to put aside their differences.

And so they had booked a table at Bonjaxx's. The one place at the far reaches of the universe where they could talk freely.

They had seen the Doctor arrive, order a drink, and sit quietly. Under normal circumstances they would have renewed their individual battles against him, but this was not the time or place.

The Rani watched him as she sipped at her beverage. "You know he looks quite pathetic, sitting there. Alone. I never thought I'd ever see him in quite that way. I almost feel sorry for him."

The other two followed her gaze. "I never considered you as the sentimental type," the Master sneered. "The Doctor's been a thorn in our sides for longer than ever of us care to remember. Why shouldn't he suffer for all the trouble he's caused us?"

"Oh, don't start..."

"Why not?" The Master grinned, looking over his shoulder. "Look at him. The oh-so-righteous Doctor has at last been brought to his knees. Don't tell me that neither of you feel some sense of victory."

"If it is a victory," the Rani replied, "it's a bittersweet one."

"A high price to pay, given the circumstances," said the third member of their party.

"Besides, he is a Time Lord. Whatever our personal feelings against him, he's still feeling the same sense of loss as we all are. Perhaps even more so." She glared at the Master. "As for you, you're hardly a Time Lord. Not in the strictest sense, anyway."

The Master's acquisition of his current body was still a sore point. "I've told you before, this is body only temporary, until I am able make a more permanent arrangement."

"And the sooner the better." The Rani seemed to be enjoying taunting him. "You had style, once. Now, you're just a shadow of what you used to be. More like a walking cadavar."

The Master's fist was clenched. "If you weren't a woman, I'd..."

She turned on him. "If you were more of a man..."

"Oh, shut up, both of you. I might have known this would degenerate into a shouting match."

The Master and the Rani stared at the third member of their group, shocked into silence by his outburst. He had hardly spoken before now, but the Monk could no longer contain his anger. "Listen to yourselves, squabbling like a couple of children. I may not be in the same league as you two, but I never wanted to be. All I wanted to do was make a difference, in some small way. Change things around for the better. But the one thing none of us can do is change our own past or future. And above all else, that's the one thing I wish I could do right now."

"Now, just a minute, you bumbling oaf..."

"Oh ho, it's name calling now, is it?" The Monk stood up to his full height. "The last defence of an unintelligent mind. Honestly, you two disgust me with your petty bickering, always trying to out do each other. Well, it stops right now, do you hear?" The Monk paused for breath. "You're both so pumped full of your own importance, that you've all but forgotten why we're here."

He nodded to the Rani. "She called you a shadow of your former self. But isn't that what we've all become? Just pale shadows, drifting through the ether." The Monk shook with fury. "We can't ignore what's happened, but we could at least be dignified about it. As for the Doctor... well, right now he has more dignity in his little finger than both of you put together."

The Monk was trembling with emotion, mopping his brow as he returned to his seat. It was the Master who eventually spoke. "Have you quite finished?"

The Monk met his steely gaze without flinching. "That depends on whether you have anything worth saying."

The Doctor could hear them arguing. Well, if they wanted to have a stand up row in here, he wasn't about to interfere. At least their squabbling kept them out of his hair. Which was fine by him.

The Rani looked at the Monk in a new light. "You're quite a firebrand on the quiet, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "In situations like this, one has no other course but to be honest – however painful that might be."

Their usual bluster and bravado had now been tempered, the Monk's words having had the desired effect. Even the Master was subdued. "It does rather put things into perspective, doesn't it?"

"A tragedy on this scale is a great leveller – for all of us." There was silent agreement at the Monk's words, and their implied meaning. He looked at his two colleagues, who nodded at his unspoken question. As one, they rose from their table and moved across to where the Doctor sat.

He looked up as they approached. "What's this, a delegation? All come to gloat, have we?"

The Master shook his head. "This is no time for bitterness, Doctor."

"On either side," the Rani agreed.

The Monk stepped forward. "We came here to mourn Gallifrey's passing, as did you, Doctor."

The Doctor noted their open sincerity, looking at each of his foes in turn. There was no malice, no hidden malevolence on their part. Only a shared understanding. He sighed. "You'd all better pull up a chair, then."

They had been mortal enemies, and perhaps they would be again. But for a few moments their animosity to each other meant nothing.

Gallifrey had gone, and they were the last of their kind.


End file.
